Warning: Detailed descriptions of PTSD, panic attacks, and trauma; may be triggering for mental health reasons.

There's a reason he left the suit at home.

As Peter sits in his aisle seat next to a sleeping Ned, he vividly remembers the struggle that he experienced about six hours prior as he finished packing his suitcase. The school's list of recommended items was spread out on his desk, and the listed items were all crammed into a tiny suitcase that had once belonged to Peter's Uncle Ben.

Unfortunately, "supersuit equipped with nanotechnology, webshooters, and a heater" was nowhere on the paper.

When Peter had zipped the case and set it in May's car a few minutes later, it had felt lighter than air without the suit inside. The red and blue garment had rested instead beneath Peter's bed in a lockbox, and somehow, it had brought him a freedom that he hadn't been expecting.

Peter hasn't been able to wear it out since his release from the Soul Stone, even though that was four months ago. The internet had practically blown up with theories– was Spider-Man another one of the casualties from the fight against Thanos? Mr. Stark did nothing about them, not even bringing up the arachnid alias around Peter.

Sometimes, Peter wonders if the internet theories were right.

But now isn't the time to think about that, Peter reminds himself as he rests in his airplane seat, waiting for takeoff. They had gotten there early, and it's a flight at the crack of dawn, so the plane is fairly quiet as people stream by in the aisle. Peter scans them as they come: A tall woman with a laptop at her side and a black blazer, an old man with a cane and his hat pulled low over spectacled eyes, a ten-year-old girl pressing away at the buttons on a Nintendo Switch as she walks down the aisle, not even looking up. They are people, he reminds himself. People just like him, and it isn't his job to protect them anymore.

He's not here to defend anyone.

Part of Peter feels guilty, as he watched them. He had tried to put the suit on, he really had, but he hadn't been able to keep it on for more than maybe three minutes at most. The way that the fitted material closed over his skin made him feel like he couldn't breathe, and as his body grew accustomed to the tightness, his skin and toes had tingled the way that they had moments before it had happened.

Before every little bit of him crumbled into nothing, molecule ripped apart from molecule.

May had found him the first time, and she had pressed the button to loosen the suit and then held him tight until he could breathe again. She hadn't talked to him about the incident, however, until a few days later when she suggested that maybe he ought to take a break for a little while and focus on his studies. Peter, who had been trying the suit on every night and ending up curdled up in the same corner of his bedroom floor, had been ashamed by the relief that had flooded through his veins.

But now, seated on the plane, he is finally excited again.

It's a school trip, sure. But he is going to see Europe. Peter is going to see all of the things he studied in the Western History unit they'd done for decathlon, and he is going to see it with the people who mattered. Ned, and…

He can't help it.

Peter's eyes flicker across the row, where MJ reclines in her seat with the tray table already down. Balanced on top of the plastic is a massive volume of Les Miserables, which Peter had seen her start this morning when he was definitely not watching her during the wait at the gate. As he had passed her to get onto the plane, he had caught a glimpse of the page, and he was pretty sure it was in the original French. The dark-haired girl does not notice him as he watches her, too engrossed in the novel.

Peter is grateful that she's not paying attention, because even with a little bit of bedhead, eyes slightly puffy from sleep, and her eyes squinting at the page, Peter is pretty sure that MJ is the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

The feelings have been growing for a while. Peter has been trying hard to keep them from doing so, but he can't help it. Seeing MJ in decathlon, where she's so clearly in her element as captain and always sharp as a whip, doesn't assist him in getting rid of the crush. She always knows the answer, and if she doesn't, she has the thinking skills she needs to find it. Now that Peter has a thing for her, he can't seem to help seeing her everywhere, and about half the time he observes her she is studying. She works tirelessly over laminated flashcards, study guides, and training books from the school library, and Peter can't help but admire her more each time. She isn't like him. She doesn't fly by the seat of her pants for an answer. She doesn't need to rely on her instincts, and for that reason, they never let her down or go haywire. Her brain is incredible, and the sheer volume of what she knows makes her harder for Peter to ignore.

Having a crush on Michelle Jones has made Peter Parker observant, and it is just when he doesn't have the energy to spare.

Sometimes, getting up in the morning is so difficult that Peter wondered if a part of him is dead. The crowded hallways of school remind him of the Soul Stone– the aimless hordes, wandering like the dead, pressing up against him on all sides with glazed eyes and ears that couldn't hear his screaming at night. The first day back, Ned helped to rush Peter to the bathroom, where he lost his breakfast in the toilet.

After a week that stopped, but still the effects linger. In class, Peter feels like someone is watching, waiting in all of the corners he can't see. When his name is called, he often can't keep from stiffening, gripping whatever he is holding so tight that he has broken several writing utensils and bent the metal arms of several chairs in his grip. His Spidey Senses seem to go haywire at unexpected moments now, making his palms sweaty and his breathing shallow as he waits for every inch of his body to be in agonizing pain.

And still, Peter notices MJ, and it exhausts him.

But, as Peter looks at her now, he isn't exhausted. Sure, he's weary from a nearly sleepless night, but he's grown accustomed to that feeling now and he isn't weighed down by the emotionally taxing experiences he faces at school. Now, as he looks at her, he feels energy. He's alive, because this is something normal– this is a high school crush, and he has a chance to make it into something bigger. Maybe, if she returns his feelings (which, let's face it, is extremely unlikely) it can grow into a reality. That's about as likely as Flash Thompson declaring his undying love for Peter, but that's the thing.

An unrequited high school crush? That's normal, and it's something Peter thinks he might be able to deal with.

The problem is not one that Peter sees immediately, however. In his mind, it's a little crush and nothing else. However, what he hasn't planned on is one thing: the girl on the other side of the feelings. Because as he watches her eyes narrow as she glares down at the page in front of her, scanning it ferociously, Peter finds himself drinking in every inch of her. Her relaxed posture, the kinky curls that have escaped a hastily-done ponytail, the slight wrinkle of her nose as she whips open the next page…

She's not just pretty, he decides. She's beautiful.

And that's when his stomach dips and dives, a feeling so unusual and unfamiliar that Peter freezes in his seat.

His heart had sped up when he began to think of her, and now it's racing faster and faster without an end in sight. To make it worse, the pilot's announcement that takeoff is beginning begins to sound, and the noise only further aggravates his enhanced senses. He can't help it when he feels the jolt in his stomach. He hasn't felt that way before… What if it's happening, again? For a second time, what if he loses everything? Peter feels every goosebump as they rise on his arms, and clammy sweat springs up on his temples and his palms. Peter knows that he's supposed to sweat when he's hot, but all he feels is the hollow, pulsating cold of the Soul Stone.

His throat already feels raw from screaming in the emptiness.

A strangled gasp escapes Peter, and it's only then that MJ looks up from her book. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, her own narrow. But then, they begin to scan him as swiftly and intently as Mr. Stark's technology. There is nothing romantic about his crush's assessment of him– her gaze doesn't warm his skin, her eyes don't linger anywhere but his trembling hands and sweaty brow. Then, her gaze snaps back to his.

Peter's lips are frozen in a silent scream, and his eyes are his only way of communicating. I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go.

Immediately, the tray table is up, and Les Miserables tumbles to the floor. MJ is twisted in her seat to face him, and she reaches across the aisle.

"Hey," she murmurs insistently, brown eyes piercing into his under a furrowed brow. Her voice is quiet, but it is like steel, and it penetrates through some of the buzzing terror to reach the small portion of Peter's brain that is still able to comprehend. "Here, grab on." Her hand finds his, and she is practically leaning out of her seat as the seat belt light comes on above them.

Peter is incapable of taking her hand, so she has to do most of the work. But she firmly manages to work her cool fingers into his sweaty ones, and as soon as she has done this he finds himself holding her hand like it is a lifeline.

"Look at me," she orders, and Peter finds that her request gives him a way out. It's one clear, simple thing that he can do, and it's his only option. So he does. He looks into her deep, dark eyes. For a moment, he imagines they're a river, carrying him along in a gentle, insistent current.

Maybe they can carry him out of this. A strangled whimper escapes Peter's lips.

"Good job," MJ praises. Her voice isn't overly sugary or soothing. It's quiet, confident, and self-assured… And by extension, that assures Peter. It's MJ, and it's normal, and it tells him that she knows what she's doing. "Now, I want you to close your eyes, okay?"

Peter clenches his jaw, trying to take a deep breath and failing. His chest aches from lack of air. He can't help it; he shakes his head a fraction of an inch.

"Yes, you can," she responds calmly. It's as if he had spoken aloud. "You can, because you're going to beat this, and this is the only way you can do it. So close your eyes."

Peter lets her words run on loop through his head like a skipping CD. You are going to beat this. You are going to beat this. Finally, after a moment of drinking in her words, he forces a sharp, painful breath down his chest and his eyelids snap shut.

"I'm going to walk you through this. I need you to listen to my voice," she instructs. A twisted, sick sort of amusement strikes at his core. As if he could ignore it… It's all he has.

The thoughts come in a wave, self-loathing and shame flooding through him so intensely that it hurts. This is him trying to be normal, and falling apart at a single drop in his stomach. Would she be helping if she knew how he felt, if she knew he had been watching her like a creep? And now, she probably thinks he's pathetic.

Why did he fool himself into thinking he could be normal, that he was even allowed something as blissfully simple as a crush? He was broken; he was damaged goods. No one wanted that.

"Peter Parker, listen to me," MJ instructs sternly. He swallows and manages what he thinks might be part of an apologetic nod. "Thank you," she says. Her hand tightens in his own.

"Focus on my hand, okay?" she instructs. "I want you to think about how the skin feels. I want you to feel the lines of it, and the temperature, and the size. Is it big or small? Is it hot?"

Peter manages to focus, for a moment, on it. It feels at first like the focus on her hand is slipping through his fingers, like he's going to get lost in his own mind forever. But then, her finger rubs against the back of his hand, and he focuses on it.

Long, slender fingers… Cool, leaving relief wherever they touch. Slightly spindly in his own broad fingers, but strong and nimble in their own way. A writing callus, rough and raised on the left middle finger.

Peter focuses on the elevated patch of tough skin, letting his own index finger brush it once, twice slightly. He might be imagining it, but Peter thinks he hears a slight intake of breath from across the aisle, and he nearly breaks focus. But then, MJ's other hand is resting atop his lightly, and his focus is restored.

"Good," she murmurs as the plain begins to rumble. For a moment, Peter shoots into panic again, but then her finger is rubbing the back of his hand and he is completely focused on her. "You're doing it, Peter. You're strong."

Her hand begins to move his, lightly unlacing his fingers from hers. His hand shakes in the sudden exposure, and for a moment, he resist. But then, he realizes, she is sliding his index and middle finger up the forearm of her left hand.

"I want you to press your fingers here." Peter tries to obey with trembling hands, his mind rattling with confusion. But then, he feels it… The fluttering of a pulse beneath his fingers, the slight protuberance of an artery beneath his finger. Boom, boom. Boom, boom.

Is he imagining it, or is it slightly fast?

"It's beating," she tells him, and Peter catches a sudden whiff of her lemon shampoo. He must be leaning farther, he realizes. He's supporting himself on the armrest… He begins to regain sensation, control of his other arm, but he doesn't focus on it. He doesn't want to be distracted, not when he's so close.

"Y-yeah," he finally manages, his voice constricted.

"You're verbal," MJ praises. "Good. Now focus on the rhythm of it, okay? Nothing else?"

Easier said than done, with the jet engines pounding in his ears. But Peter obeys anyway, and slowly but surely, he can feel himself relaxing.

"Yours is doing the same thing," she assures him. Her voice holds a note of comfort, now, and it laps at his ears like the cooling, soothing waves of the ocean. The plane begins to rumble, shooting forward. And still, even as the whole world begins to shift around him, Peter focuses on her heartbeat.

"It hasn't failed you before, and it won't now." MJ's promise is not idealistic, it's not a romantic notion of some sort about "finding inner peace." She's not promising everything is going to be gone when this is done, she's not promising that this will never happen again.

But she's reminding him that he has the strength to get through this moment.

The plane levels out, and Peter isn't exactly sure how long he stays there with his fingers pressed against her cool skin. His breathing comes back after a bit, and then his heart rate begins to slow. The buzzing of a million bees in his brain quiets after what could have been hours, and he manages to open his eyes.

She is staring into his gaze immediately, and there is a note of warmth to the ancient waters of her eyes.

"Are you done?" she asks carefully. It isn't a demanding question, it isn't implying that he was a burden. She's gauging him, checking up.

"Yes," he admits. Slowly, he takes his hand back and manages to sit normally, averting his eyes. "Th-thank you."

"Don't mention it." He can't help but feel like her gaze hasn't moved, like it's still piercing into him.

"Right," he murmurs.

There is a moment of silence as an announcement comes on about drinks. When the intercom has finished, MJ speaks up again. "I won't tell anyone."

"I'm sorry."

Peter doesn't know what provokes him to say it, but when he manages to look up, her eyes are narrowed. He is confused, and he's sure it shows as she directs a stern gaze at him. Peter opens his mouth, but then she is speaking, and she is making sure he can't get in a word.

"Don't."

"Don't?" he repeats, nervous.

The girl nods, swiveling in her seat so that her torso is facing him. "Don't," she repeats, shaking her head. "You're strong. You're fighting. And you got through that."

"Only because you-"

"I helped. But you did the heavy lifting," she cuts him off. Her voice softens slightly as she brushes a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. "I have them, too. I know how hard it is. And I know that you just fought a battle in your own head, and you won when even your body was set against you. I don't care what you think or what anyone says; that's badass."

"You have them too?" Peter repeats incredulously.

MJ appears slightly unsure now, but she nods hesitantly. "Um, yeah. I do."

"Do you have anyone? To do what you just did, for me?"

MJ doesn't respond for a moment. Instead, she leans over to pick up her book, and Peter realizes as she puts down her table again that she has no intention of responding.

"Hey," he prompts slowly. MJ's eyes snap up to meet his, and this time it is his turn to be the one who speaks with absolute certainty.

"If you need someone, you have me. I don't know if I could do it as well as you, but… I can be there. If you're alone and need someone on your side for the fight."

MJ's eyes flash with something indiscernible, and for a moment Peter isn't quite sure how she's going to respond. But then, the corner of her lips quirks upward, and she gives him a quick nod. "Thanks, Parker," she mumbles, and as the sky begins to turn pink from the sunrise below, so do the tips of her ears.

MJ returns to her book after that, and then Peter is left to Ned's snores and the dull roar of the plane's engines. But as he studies the girl across the aisle, Peter feels his heart skip a beat again.

And this time, it doesn't scare him, because he knows what– or rather, who– caused it.